Skyrim: The Devil You Know
by Gotham'sProphet
Summary: The kind that values honor and the kind that values wealth have never seen eye-to-eye. An Argonian Companion and a Dunmer thief test the bond of friendship in the turning of the age in Skyrim. Through battles with dragons, bandits, thieves, warriors, Daedra and divine alike...what is more dangerous? The Devil you know, or the Devil sitting across the table from you? M for violence.
1. All That Glitters

I will preface this by saying that THE DRAGONBORN HAS NO EFFECT ON THIS STORY. This is just really the story of a Companion and a thief forming the most unlikely of friendships and trying to keep it together as shit hits the fan. The Dovahkiin is mentioned in this first chapter but his story is separate from these two.

Pronunciation guide: Huszh = "hush"

Nephethys = "neffeh-this"

Neph = "Neff"

I hope you all enjoy this little project of mine.

Your friend,

G.P.

* * *

_Ahhh, the pungent scent of the Ratway. _

Huszh took a long lungful of air through his Argonian nostrils, passing through the iron gates and slipping behind the door. He had not been down here in a good few years...and in the heat of Midyear, the sweat that clung to his scales could drive a man insane. But his purpose for being down here outweighed his disgust. He had friends down here, and he needed a favor.

Riften had never sat well with Huszh. His half-brother was the jeweler in the central market, Madesi, and since the two Argonians had parted ways upon arriving in Skyrim, the younger now quietly sidestepping sleeping drunkards had done all he could to avoid this part of the province. He would not lift a finger for his elder brother. But Madesi had more than earned that, and he wagered not a soul in town knew he had a brother.

He crossed the underground bridge and knocked his knuckles on the table in the small room, noting the familiar shadowmark next to the door to the Ragged Flagon. The seagreen Argonian kept his parcel - a long, sword-length box - tight under one arm, the other scaled hand on his Skyforge steel sword that was strapped to his belt. Huszh was by no means unnerved by thieves, no. Nodding curtly to Dirge as he came into the common room of the Flagon, he recognized the glow of the lamps she had placed over her table on the platform above the lake. No, certainly not afraid of thieves.

His best friend was a thief.

"Nobody can ever call Huszh of Lilmoth a liar. 'Cause when I said that I would 'stay in trouble'," Huszh called as he strode up to the person he'd come to see, "Boy, did I stay in trouble."

The vaguest hint of a smile crossed the sitting Dunmer's lips as she looked up at her oldest friend from her work. The thief in charge of heists, plans, stolen rare tomes, and archives, Nephethys or just "Neph" had been a thief a few years before she met Huszh. Both were having a go at a bandit camp, be it for different reasons. Huszh had been paid to clear it out, where Neph was paid to steal its leader's prized glass warhammer to be sold to the fence. But since that day and now two years later, they trusted each other beyond the bond of siblings.

Neph was a thin, slender elf, but her prowess was with the bow. Huszh had once seen her bring down a frost troll from sixty-something paces, and when she did run out of arrows, she wasn't above bashing a man's face in with the bow itself. Black hair braided back from her face to pour over her tomes, she smiled with her one-red, one-white eye up at Huszh.

"What new mischief did you run into this time?" She shoved her quill into her book as means of a marker, and placed it onto the bench seat beside her. Huszh gave her the box he'd been coveting, and sat down across from her. Ink-stained sleeves were rolled up her lean arms and her nimble fingers braced against the box. "Or is it the same old mischief?"

Huszh shrugged, the corner of his lips curling up. "Only one way to find out."

As she lifted the box, shimmers of light peeked out from the cracks and as she dared to gaze inside, her eyes went wide. She quickly shut the box, staring at him. "Huszh."

"Yes, Neph?" He propped his spiky jaw up onto a fist, his elbow against the table. He dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. "If you're wondering why a Daedric artifact is in that box, I can definitely say that stupidity and mead had something to do with it."

"Well...if this is what I think it is, I'd say that stupidity and mead is exactly what Sanguine needed," The elf said matter-of-factly, pushing the box away from her. "Why bring this to me, though?"

"I certainly can't take it back to Jorrvaskr with me," Huszh, for the first time since she'd known him, seemed deeply ashamed of what he had done. "I cannot disgrace Kodlak like that..."

Befriending Huszh had made Neph a few friends within the Companions, and although Neph was not well-liked by their Harbinger because of her profession in larceny, she respected the old man enough to understand that. After a short silence, the Dunmer took the box again. "What do you want me to do with it?"

"Keep it if you like, sell it, I do not much care where it goes," Huszh admitted, standing and rounding the table. She managed to get one leg out of the bench seat before he gathered her up in an almost painful hug, "You've saved my skin yet again, friend."

"Yes, yes, you're very welcome." She said, tapping the steel armor over his shoulder in protest.

When he set her back down on her feet, he crouched to pull a slip of paper out of his boot. Huszh gave it to her, and crossed his arms. "Vilkas told me that a thief managed to get into Jarl Balgruuf's bedchambers, steal his copy of _Before the Ages of Man_, and manage to ride off into the night. He also mentioned that whoever it was was wearing Guild armor...?"

Neph read on the scrap of parchment and arched an eyebrow. "Is this really all they want for my head on a platter? I'm a little hurt."

"So it _was _your horse I saw gallavanting down the Plains District," Huszh's white smile was full of sharp, reptilian teeth. "Nearly ran over the famed Dragonborn, you did."

"Oops," Neph muttered, "I would've had to take Loredas off to wash the dragonblood out of Malcolm's coat to sell. Shame, shame." She pocketed the parchment and tapped the books in the stack from her workspace, shimmying the fourth from its position. "I've already sold three exact replicas of the text, bindings and all. Poor fools. Here." She handed it to him. "Buy yourself something nice."

"You do realize that the Jarl won't accept it back without some sort of proof that it wasn't me who stole it in the first place?"

"Which is why I'm coming with you," Neph leaned against the table, stretching and working out the kinks in her back from sitting for so long. "We'll stage a capture. Meet me by Sigaar's carriage in the morning. I'll tell you the rest then."

"You're an enigma, elf."

"Have I ever led you wrong?" Came her mock-hurt reply.

Huszh clapped a hand on her shoulder on his way out of the Flagon.

"Which is why we're still alive."


	2. Long, Dusty Roads

**Author's Note: Thanks to SundayWinterChild for taking the time to review this little project and any who read this, check out her Skyrim fanfic: Wind Guide You. It's a wonderful mix of feels and deep, emotionally charged scenes. It's beautiful. **

**I hope you enjoy this next bit. Read and Review!**

**Best,**

**G.P.**

* * *

"Hold on," The ginger thief urged for the fifth time, following the elf as she readied her horse, "You're giving the book you just stole _back?_"

"Yes, I believe I mentioned that," Neph was growing impatient and irritated with the Nord, "I've already made a hefty profit for it, and I have no further gain by keeping it in my collection. I have the transcript, I can make more. What _is _your point?"

Running a whetstone across his sword nearby was the Argonian, watching the argument with a mix of amusement and pity for his friend. Sigaar atop the carriage shot him a sympathetic look as he munched a hunk of bread, for the sight of these two bickering was common. He didn't understand how Neph put up with him. Huszh knew what Brynjolf really considered the Dunmer to be, and despite all his best efforts to warn her, Neph didn't mind being seen as an asset more than an individual. It was the only way someone of her skills earned a living.

Brynjolf ran a rough hand through his tangled auburn hair, his eyes on the every twitch of her hands. "I'm saying that you've only done maybe two of these operations, and I cannot bail you out if something goes wrong."

"I'm amazed you would doubt me, Bryn," Neph didn't sound hurt, but the way her eyebrows pulled together gave a clue to her annoyance. "Look, I have a job from Delvin to do in Whiterun hold anyway, and Huszh will be in town if anything goes wrong."

"This isn't how we do things, lass."

Neph didn't have to do much brainwork to figure out just how reliable Huszh's assistance seemed from the Nord's viewpoint.

She tethered her quiver to Malcolm, finishing her work. Neph turned to glare at the other thief, "Don't you 'lass' me. This will bring in more coin for the Guild, one would think you'd be pleased." She drew her black hood over her head, and her eyes sharpened beneath. "I don't think I need to remind you that I don't answer to you, and the man I do answer to gave me the go-ahead."

The elf sighed. "Look, I know you're concerned. But there is not much to worry about."

"Sure, there isn't," Brynjolf muttered, not the least bit convinced, "Just be careful, lass."

She hooked a foot in the stirrup and heaved herself up into the saddle, shifting her bow. Neph gave one lasting look at Brynjolf and then clicked her tongue, the stallion beginning to walk. Huszh rose from his stump and sheathed his sword. He moved to follow her, ignoring the stare he could feel on his backside from the Nord.

Passing the Khajiit camp close to the stables and the farm which the road cut right through, the beautiful summer wilderness laid out before the pair like a sheet torn off a painting. Green trees, dewy grass, and water sparkling with the yellow morning sun further proved to Huszh why he loved Skyrim, where he grew up, and reminded Neph why she stayed in Skyrim, where she took refuge so many years ago.

Being a water-breathing Argonian was an immense advantage to Huszh when travelling, as many roads in Skyrim were accompanied by a river or a stream. There were fewer aiming to kill you in the water, though the slaughterfish were a headache he always was careful to avoid. It was almost instinctive to the pair, then, that Neph would keep to the road alongside the shore on horseback and Huszh would swim along the waters. The dark elf kept an arrow notched on her bow at all times, but the air between the two travellers was not tense. They had journeyed these roads this way many times over the years, and were well-acquainted with its dangers and wonders.

Huszh streamlined his body in the water, using his tail both as a rudder and as means to propel himself forward. His nostrils and eyes just above the surface, he scanned the hills above where Malcolm trotted for Frostbite spiders and ahead of himself, for slaughterfish.

A number of minutes later, Huszh's reptilian earholes heard a distant scuttling, followed by a whizzing. Lo and behold, a Frostbite spider had been there but Neph had seen it first and dispatched it before the arachnid saw her with a neatly placed Orcish arrow.

He treaded water while she dismounted to retrieve her arrow from the carcass, the arrowhead lodged in one of the spider's beady black eyes. Huszh chose to break their careful silence, but the words that tumbled messily from his mouth weren't the ones he wanted to say.

"So. Dragons in Skyrim…Have you seen one yet?"

"Three days ago," She recalled, using a foot braced against the spider to yank her arrow out, "I was returning to Riften from Winterhold and saw one circling a peak above me...Don't remember being that scared….You?"

"No...I was in town when the guards yelled up the Cloud District that a dragon was at the Western Watchtower a month ago," Huszh watched her climb back up onto Malcolm and he flipped onto his back, slowly paddling with his feet. "I didn't understand why the Companions didn't lift a finger to defend Whiterun…"

"Likely didn't want to get their swords wet," Neph said flatly, then amended once Huszh shot her a look. "Alright, alright... I understand that your lot are a fraternity of warriors and I respect that a great deal, but even being a good-for-nothing thief, I would have at least tried to join the effort if a dragon was trying to burn Merryfair Farm to the ground."

Huszh attempted to picture Neph in the presence of a dragon and drew his eyebrows together. She seemed so small...How did she stand a chance against something so large? An uncomfortable twinge of his stomach reminded him of another unpleasant proposition. How did _he _stand a chance against a dragon? Even with Neph, an outstanding marksman but a tiny thing, and he, a twin-swords specialist, going to put up a fight? It was a reality, and with the times changing even faster since he heard the Shout come from the Throat of the World...they would likely have to face it soon.

He was thankful for the trees in the Rift; if a dragon did come this far southeast, it would have a hard time finding a place to land.

"And then there's this Dragonborn running around…" Neph often liked to read his mind without realizing, and when he glanced over at her, she had her face scrunched together in thought. She used her bow to move a low-hanging branch as her stallion trotted. "A man with the soul of a dragon…"

"To think you nearly ran the poor fellow over," Huszh quipped, a smirk twisting his scaled lips.

"I did find this book the other day in the Arcaneum at the College of Winterhold - shame I didn't bring it along," The dark elf lamented as her friend snagged a spadetail fish from just below him, "All about the Dragonborn. I managed to read some of it over breakfast this morning. Went on and on about the origin of the word 'Dragonborn' and the Septims."

"Seems like something you'd read."

"Har har," Neph said lowly, "The only Septim to ever turn my gaze is kept in a rich man's purse."

The Argonian valued moments like these. Be it a thief, Companion or anyone else, the Dunmer woman was a composed, well-spoken library of knowledge. An information spitter. But with him, she showed some signs of a personality beneath the mask of indifference. A laugh here, a smile there and Huszh had hope he might help her enjoy the mannerisms of life rather than making calculations as to the why and how.

He rolled onto his stomach in the water once more, and noticed they were approaching Faldar's Tooth, seeing movement on the upper wooden balcony.

"Neph?" His voice was pure caution.

"Yes?"

"I think there's an archer at Faldar's T-" Neph heard the whizzing of an arrow, raising her bow and searching for its origin, her eyes going wide as she saw red in the water beside her. When Huszh breached the surface again, an arrow was shot in his shoulder between two plates of his armor.

The dark elf saw the archer atop the fort and fired a few warning arrows to send them down. She didn't have to miss; if she wanted to kill them, she could. But she was more concerned with Huszh's wound, preparing to wrench the reins over and lead Malcolm into the water, but Huszh shouted before she did, "Go, Neph! I'll be alright!"

She hesitated, her expression one of pure desperation. He roared again, "Run, you stupid elf!"

He slipped under the water as more arrows were fired and there was a call of "Let the wolves have them!"

"_Dammit_," Neph was about to dig her heels into Malcolm when the horse took off on his own, charging the oncoming wolves with squeals and grunts.

She knew this horse, and she knew he hated wolves.

She flipped around in the saddle, knowing that the snarling animals would give chase and there were still the archers on the balcony to handle. But her mind was a blur of instinct, adrenaline and worry for Huszh. She readied her bow but lost an arrow as Malcolm forcefully plowed into a wolf, running it over and trampling it with his hooves. Neph winced as she heard crunching beneath her and whining, lifting her bow to aim at the archer. The millisecond her sight lined up with the shoulder of the archer, she released. A cry of pain rewarded her ears, as she turned her next arrow upon the pursuing wolves.

Despite the constantly shifting in the saddle due to Malcolm's thunderous gait, Neph managed to put dwarven arrows into the remaining two wolves. One through the eye, the other through the spine. She rested her head back against Malcolm's chestnut mane, and felt him slow down. Hearing the ground beneath his hooves become hard stone, she realized they were on the bridge to Heartwood Mill.

"Good boy," Neph mumbled, patting her hand against his belly and the stallion snorted in response. She slid off him and rushed to the side of the bridge, anxiously scanning the murky waters for any sign of the Argonian in Lake Honrich. She called out, notes of confusion and worry in her voice, "Huszh!"

She heard a splashing behind her, and ran to the opposite side of the bridge, seeing the Argonian pulling himself ashore by a greenneedle tree.

"Nephethys!" Huszh yelled the loudest his labored lungs would allow, "Neph, where are you?"

_Oh, you lucky lizard, you. _A breath of relief rushing past her teeth, she swallowed hard and made for him. He was on his back, a hand going up to break off the arrow in his shoulder and his blood was trickling down from the wound, a glaring red reprimand. The wood snapped in two with little pressure from Huszh's palm, and once Neph reached him, she was ripping a strip of her cloak off to bind his wound without thinking, without speaking.

"Neph, I-"

"Shut it," Her voice was stern.

Whistling for Malcolm, the horse came straight to them. The elf quickly rummaged through the bags in the saddle, finding a jar of salt. She unscrewed the top and brought it back to her injured friend. Huszh watched her face as she compacted the salt with her fingers, "Neph, I'm sorry, I-"

At those words, she packed the salt none-too-gently into the wound, the sharp pain sending white across Huszh's vision and he uttered a rough "ow!".

"_I said, _shut it," The Dunmer repeated, and fastened the cloth over the wound, knotting it tightly. Once her work was done, she glared hard into Huszh's tawny eyes and growled, "You ever ask me to leave you behind again and you make it…" She stopped herself from finishing that sentence, looking away from him and rubbing a hand over her face.

"Nephethys," That got her attention, and her red-and-white eyes went to him, his face a sincere apology. He patted her shoulder, forcing a smile on his face through the pain.

She did not smile, but it was all in her eyes. She straightened from her crouch and offered him a hand to help him up. As the Argonian stood, the morning sun filtering in between the branches blinded him in the eyes and he lifted a hand to block the rays. The light turned the edges of her hair red until she pulled the hood over her face tighter.

Slowly, Malcolm nudged Neph's elbow. The elf sighed, but did not react to him. Determined, the stallion put his whole snout behind her back and shoved. She rolled her eyes and patted his nose between the nostrils to appease him, a slight smile curled her lips. Huszh glanced back to the lumber mill, where the Nord who lived there was just starting up the splitter. He also saw that the worker was casting the pair of them wary looks.

"Let's get on the main road," The Companion said, gingerly moving his wounded shoulder. "My good arm is alright enough to swing a sword, just not very hard."

"You ride Malcolm, then," She insisted, releasing her quiver from the horse's saddle and fastened it across her torso. "If you've only got one strong sword hand, you'll be able to make passes and still be effective."

Huszh didn't have the heart to argue with her, knowing that she would only become angrier with him; silently, he hoisted himself up into the saddle of her horse and nodding respectfully to the family as they were leaving their cabin, the two got onto the main road and continued west.

…

In barely comfortable silence, the two travellers and friends followed the main road westward. They did not turn for Ivarstead, as the road north around the great peak of Skyrim known as the Throat of the World was craggy and riddled with cliffs and waterfalls. Giants, bandits and bears were in abundance there as well. They would face bandits when they reached the burned settlement of Helgen, of course, but Huszh promised he had a way around that.

Neph had not spoken a word. The typical Skyrim wilderness had not thrown any additional wild cards into their way. Huszh cast a sideways look at her, watching how quiet and brisky she walked and wondering what she must be thinking under that hood. He knew why she had been upset at him...And to be honest with himself, something he usually failed at, he didn't blame her.

"There it is," The elf said hollowly, leading her horse down an unseen path to a small shack. A structure of wood and reinforced with iron, the place would weather a Skyrim storm just fine and due to the leaf-litter, trees and the fact that few knew it was here...it was virtually undetectable from anyone on the road to Helgen.

"The Alchemist's shack."

"Who?" He asked, gingerly dismounting and adjusting his trousers with visible discomfort.

"Number of years ago I found this by accident," She said, resting a hand on the shadowmark she had carved on the log that made up the left side side of the door. A square inside a circle, ladder's lines cut across it. "The dark elf that conducted research here's been dead for a while, so I repurposed it to be a safe haven for any thief on their way west...or home."

Huszh led Malcolm by the reins around back, where a small fence enclosed a garden. He tied the reins to a section of the fence so the horse may graze, but not close enough where he could have a go at the nightshade. Neph came through the shack to the outside garden, to fiddle with a leather roping above the door so high up that she stretched up on her toes. The Argonian noticed a long section of rolled-up hide, he guessed it to be, and as she got it free, it unrolled into a makeshift awning that protected the garden and Malcolm easily from the elements.

He smiled. That was the Neph he respected. She could make something, anything work from a pile of scraps. Any and all knowledge was useful, like any random piece of junk was. There were no such things as a stupid question, a useless book - She did not know _useless or unsalvageable. _Probably part of why she was a great thief. If she couldn't make a profit from it, she could put things together and increase its value.

"Sit," She ordered, setting up a stool for him and then picking a few ingredients from the garden. There was an alchemy lab just outside the door, and as he jumped the fence, she pulled the tops off the blisterwort. "Take the armor off."

He hesitated, staring at her with questions in his eyes. Neph rolled hers. "Huszh, I've seen it all before and we both know you're not the least bit bashful."

"I'm not," He admitted, unfastening his armor with a wince, "But in my defense, you could've knocked."

Once upon a time, the two were in Solitude dealing with separate business but staying at the same inn and enjoying the fruits of the city's many labors. The Argonian had told the elf that he was going to wash up before retiring for the night; lo and behold, when Neph heard a wood-on-wood slamming fro and went to investigate. She saw more of Argonian anatomy that night than she ever wanted to know.

Neph laughed without mirth, and ground the blisterwort with wheat until both made a plaste-like concoction. "I'm a thief. Knocking is punishable by Maven, where Mercer's concerned."

Her voice called back to him as she went into the shack for the last ingredient, "'Exclusively nocturnal professions,' He says, 'are best done in the dark and in complete silence'."

Neph returned with a large glass jar between her blue, spidery hands and inside fluttered four monarch butterflies. She gently set it down on the edge of the lab, by her mortar. She snapped her fingers. "Pay attention, trade secret." She unscrewed the jar, and careful to not crush the specimen she chose, delicately swept her fingers along the wings. Sparkling dust winked at Huszh under the light of the small fire beneath one flask of the lab. "Throwing the whole wing in is unnecessary. You're using the dust to heal, not the wing itself."

"Like when you cook, you don't throw a chunk of salt at it because it's too much?"

"Somewhat, yes." She rubbed her callused fingertips together, the dust falling into the paste at the bottom of the mortar before running her pestle through it again to distribute.

Huszh cut off the bandage from earlier, using a claw to pick out the salt and grimacing as he accidentally hit the wound itself. The dark elf heard his sudden hiss of pain, and finally came with the treatment, swatting his green-scaled hands to apply the healing paste with gentle hands. Her eyes and mind hyperfocused on the task, it took a few tries asking his question till he got an answer. He'd thought it was concentration.

"How come you know so much about alchemy? Who taught you?"

"I heard you the first time," She grumbled, adding more paste and molding it to his scales, "As you know...my father was a mage. He taught me."

"What I'm thinking is that if you know so much about specific ingredients and alternatives," He reasoned, "Your teacher must have been a master."

"He was, my father," She explained, her tone extremely guarded, "And even though he'd studied so much he could make an invisibility potion so strong you could actually be declared missing...it wasn't his best skill. He was also excellent with Destruction magic."

Huszh watched how her always steady limbs now trembled as she spoke of her family, something from her past. Truthfully, he knew only bits and pieces. An event here, a few details there. All he had pieced together is what her parents did, and that the sheer trauma of why she left her home diminished any hope she had for returning unless she wanted reminded of the inevitable: her own death. He did know that she had to leave them behind, at their request, so that she may be safe. And that was why she had gotten angry with him.

"How good with Destruction magic?" He asked after a moment. He watched her unusual eyes soften with something like regret or grief.

"...Very good."

The two were quiet for some time; it did not take long for the paste the Dunmer put on his wound to harden, as it was supposed to. It would form a protective layer over to ward off infection, and as it healed and sealed up, the paste would crack and fall away: a dissolvable bandage. The technique and recipe for this healing paste was an old method, she explained later to him, passed down along her mother's side. A very, very old method.

He could sense her nostalgia, and it turned the grayer parts of her face even grayer so. An hour later, she was to be asleep in the only bed inside the shack and Huszh was perched on the same stool just inside the front door, searching the darkness and keeping watch. Despite all her best efforts, he guessed, he could still hear sniffling from the bed. He understood her reluctance to tell him everything, even after years of knowing one another. He hadn't told her all about himself, and they figured it worked for them. They trusted each other, but not with everything, not just yet.

But they knew that they would safeguard each other, both in body and in spirit.

…

In the dazed hours between midnight and sunrise, Neph felt something being laid down beside her face. Opening her eyes, bright yellow spanned across her vision. A bouquet of yellow mountain flowers. She smiled, and closed her eyes once more.

A grin stretched across the Argonian's face as he heard her faintly say:

"Thank you, Huszh."


	3. The Art of Diplomacy

**Author's Note: This chapter marks the beginning of a social experiment I'm conducting within this fanfiction between Ulfric and Neph. No, they're not getting together romantically. You'll see. There are some interesting parallels I'd like to explore is all. But from here on out, nothing is as simple as tossing back a couple pints with a friend. I hope you enjoy!**

**Diplomacy is the art of saying "nice doggy" until you can find a rock.**

**Best,**

**GP**

* * *

"We move north to Whiterun within the week, Ulfric. You will have it under your control, and hold the center of Skyrim beneath your thumb."

The Jarl paced about the small tent in the Falkreath camp, a rough hand coming up to itch at his blonde beard. "I do not enjoy ripping Balgruuf's hold from Whiterun. He is a Nord..."

"Was it really me in that palace alone when Unblooded returned with your axe?" The older man asked, impatience building in him. "Balgruuf sides with the Legion."

"For the sake of his people, to keep them safe. Legionnaires fight for control, but the guards will fight to defend their homes."

For the first time in weeks, the bear of a man standing across from him worried that perhaps the war for Skyrim was costing more than it gained. Ulfric's cheeks and temples seemed more hollow, and Talos only knew when he ate last. Galmar had tried discussing the Jarl's health before, remembering with a twinge of discomfort how well that conversation had gone.

"You sound like Unblooded now, too," Galmar Stone-Fist rolled his eyes and bent before the map again, glaring at the red and blue markers...he frowned as the blue were more spread out, scarcer than the more-concentrated red. "We need Whiterun, Ulfric. I thought we had agreed on this before we left Windhelm."

"Do not mistake my remorse for apprehension, old friend," Ulfric's eyes stared into him, the gaze piercing. "I am of the same mind as then."

"I think you've been without a proper drink for too long," Galmar muttered as the Jarl moved to leave the tent, pushing the fur door aside and stretching as the morning sun began to peek out around the mountain.

Ulfric had heard that, and in all honesty, the old bear was probably right. He has not been himself lately...The Stormcloaks already out of their tents placed a closed hand over their heart and gave a nod to their leader, the man they bled for. Unblooded, the man Ulfric had his suspicions about, was still asleep in his bedroll, and if it weren't for the armor he slept in obstructing his face from view...the Jarl might have been able to tell if he dreamed of a Skyrim at peace. If he had allegiance of any kind to Whiterun, he would have to place it aside if he continued to fight for Ulfric.

Over his shoulder, he spoke to his second-in-command, "I shall return to Windhelm. When you bring me news of victory, I want three things." The Jarl met the man's eyes, turning sideways. "The first is a report on how Unblooded's loyalty reacts as he fights to take Whiterun. The second is Balgruuf's best warrior...if he has the finest defensive force in Skyrim..."

He paused to hold up a clenched fist. "I want him for my Stormcloaks."

"And the third?" Galmar's gravelly voice was wary.

"An audience with K-"

The sudden sound of hooves came up up the mountain, growing louder as Ulfric cut off mid-sentence. Two figures atop a galloping stallion were thundering towards the two top officers of the rebellion. The driver of this horse, in the split second he caught her face Ulfric only saw the red-and-white of her eyes as he met them, called to clear the way as they plowed through the camp. The horse, not spooked but determined, made for the edge of the ravine straight down almost to Riverwood. The clearly scaled Argonian rider behind the woman driving whooped and held his sword high in a cavalier gesture.

They knocked over a barrel on their way through and the onlooking Stormcloaks watched in shock as the horse started down the ravine. Ulfric and Galmar both hurried to the edge, watching the horse use its hooves to swiftly but safely slid down the rocky cliff.

"Ysmir's...beard..." The old bear breathed, taking the helmet from his head. "What in the name of Talos was that?"

Ulfric Stormcloak had no clue, shaking his head. Quickly, he made his way to a bottle of mead and downed the lot.

* * *

The warm Whiterun wind blew the smell of mead and wheat into Neph's face as she held Malcolm's foot between her knees, using a blunt and dull knife to clean the rocks stuck in his hooves. They awaited Huszh's return from Honningbrew Meadery, which the woman and her horse stood outside of now. The Argonian was raised a Nord and often dreamt of mead if he was without it for too long.

That stunt outside Riverwood charging down the side of a cliff had wedged some stones into the hooves. But what was racing through the elf's mind had nothing to do with picking out a hoof. Had she really seen _the _Ulfric Stormcloak? Wanted posters were often all over Markarth when she went to run jobs, and he'd matched the drawn image perfectly...

"Hey, Trouble."

Neph looked up to see Huszh leaving the Meadery with two bottles in hand and a broad grin across his green-scaled face. She smirked at his longtime nickname for her, finishing the hoof and wiping her knife on her tunic. Huszh popped off the tops a sharp fingernail, handing a bottle to her.

"You know, I may be the only person you know who doesn't love Nord mead." Neph said, a wry smile on her lips.

Huszh took a long drag from his bottle. "You're in Skyrim. Learn to."

Neph braved a single sip. It was too sweet, almost bogged down with honey on her tongue and her stomach began to churn. She pushed the mead back into his hands, forcing herself to swallow. "You can have mine."

He shrugged, continuing to drink as they made their way down the road and gazed up at mighty city of Whiterun on the hill. The summer sun beat down on them oppressively, the elf restraining her hair up into a knot with a leather cord to keep it off her neck and it was not long at all before Huszh was shirtless, his blue-green scales shining as they walked.

"How much are you willing to bet that we won't even be within the walls when the guards grab me and escort me straight to Balgruuf?"

For the first time since they'd begun this adventure, she sounded worried. Huszh cast a glance at her. Her eyes were to the dirt, one hand clenched with nails burrowing into her palms and her jaw tight as if to tell him that she was listening to Brynjolf's cautions in the background. To the beat of their feet against the stones in the road, she could hear the thief's words beckon her to safety like a heartbeat. But Huszh knew her far better than Brynjolf.

He nudged her with his scaly elbow, "Listen. Don't doubt yourself. You're cleverer than you know, Neph."

"It's not doubt," She corrected, crossing her arms as she moved faster to keep pace with the Argonian's long legs. "It's a bit of embarrassment." His eyebrow ridge rising prompted her to explain."I didn't think of how my arrest would look to your Harbinger."

"Didn't realize you care what Kodlak White-Mane thinks of you." His tone was half mock and half surprise. He typically operated the balancing act of maintaining friendship both with the Companions and Neph on the assumption that she didn't give a skeever's rump what anyone thought. That she did as she pleased.

"I don't," She prefaced, "But if Kodlak is going to hate me for my profession, I'd prefer it to not to be justified with anything he can see from his porch at Jorrvaskr."

"He does not hate y-" He started, but she cut him off pointedly.

"Or your father perhaps?" Although she barely raised her voice beyond a conversational midtone, he could tell that if she were anyone else with the same problem, she'd be shouting in frustration.

Huszh understood her concern. His father was a Whiterun guard that was usually posted outside Dragonsreach; he was the first line of defense should someone come up the Cloud District wanting a shot at the Jarl. He was the first line of defense against theft, and he probably didn't know that the last time someone got away with robbing the Jarl, it was the woman his adoptive Argonian son was adventuring through Skyrim with. The woman he had let sleep in their house more than once.

He had actually left Whiterun a few days after, because his father was not at all civil when he'd been bamboozled. It took Huszh and Farkas both to restrain him from punching a passersby for looking at him wrong. His father was really a hot-tempered man, but he was forgiving after a time of heating up, which the Argonian hoped had passed by now.

"You stole a book from the Jarl's nightstand to turn a pretty Septim and for the pursuit of knowledge. He'll understand."

They reached the stables, and Neph lead Malcolm into the stables while he waited on the road. She removed all essential supplies from his saddle and turned him over to the stablemaster, a gruff Nord who bowed his head solemnly to her from his stool as she lifted a hand as means of "thanks".

"Don't you care that I lie and cheat and steal for a living?" She asked, returning to him.

He scoffed, lazily draping a scaly arm around her narrow shoulders. His words were light, honest. "It is not for me to say what you do with your life, Neph. Quite frankly, I do not care. So long as you don't steal from me, the Companions or my father, then what you do for a living is your prerogative."

A small smile to herself, Neph was quiet the rest of the walk up to the gates. She had never befriended someone like him before, who was so open-minded and would suspend judgment simply because it wasn't his business. Interrupting her thoughts was his voice again, "Do you mind that I am a glorified sellsword who will fight just about anything for any amount of coin you throw at me?"

"You fight for honor, do you not?"

"I do," He declared, his voice lowering, "Some, I think, do not. Not anymore."

He shrugged, thus closing that part of their conversation. Huszh ran his reptilian tongue over his dry lower lip, preparing to tell the guard to open the gates. It eased his mind, in a way, knowing he'd see his father again within minutes. Luckily, the guard recognized him.

"Alarik's boy? The Argonian Companion?"

Huszh's stomach twisted. If there _was _something he minded, it was being referred to as his race like it defined him. The elf under his arm pointed her face towards the ground so that her features were somewhat hidden with the midday sun, and allowed him to speak. Though she knew by his long silence after the guard had spoken meant that he was annoyed, and sighed to let him know she sympathized.

"Yes, on both accounts. We wish to enter the city."

The guard, peering out from his helmet at the woman, slowly nodded and turned to open the huge gates. The Argonian pressed the inner of his elbow against her neck slightly to beckon her to go in first, and she did so, casting a stern look at him over her thin shoulder. _Pick your battles. _He understood, and entered behind her without another thought, before he could tempt himself to say something to the guard.

Whiterun was indeed the pride of Skyrim. Pristine stone streets, the guards' barracks on the left and a blacksmith on the right; they could see the road ahead of them to the Bannered Mare, the Drunken Huntsman on a hill across from the one house for sale in the city. Huszh had been eyeing up that property since the last owner was killed in the dragon attack a month ago at the Western Watchtower.

"I want to get my business with the Jarl over with as soon as possible." Neph stated under her breath, a splayed hand over her satchel where the stolen book resided.

His reply was simple. "You want a scene in the market, or me to drag you up the Cloud District to present you to the Jarl?"

Her eyebrows furrowed at the latter. "_Dragged?_ Very undignified."

The Argonian rolled his eyes, and stopped her mid-stride in the middle of the road. He glanced around; it seemed no one was paying attention, though he would lament later that he had not looked harder. He gestured to her. _Have it your way, then_.

A smirk rewarded him, another glimpse of humanity within her. "I do not envy you the lip you'll have after this."

She reared her fist back and flung it forward to collide with his mouth.


End file.
